


when life gets heavy, i'll carry you through

by whatliesabove



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy Scares, Scott being there for Tessa like the best friend he is, Teenage VirtueMoir, The best relationship tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 23:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14531391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatliesabove/pseuds/whatliesabove
Summary: 'Scott stares at her for a moment, assessing, and she can hear the blood pounding in her ears. Does he know? Can he tell just by looking at her that something might be different?'Or, a pregnancy scare fic no one, including myself, asked for. It just kind of happened.





	when life gets heavy, i'll carry you through

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all! What am I doing? Wonderful question - I have no idea. 
> 
> I'm new to this particular bandwagon, but I probably should've seen it coming considering I'm powerless against the Winter Olympics. It's not my first time writing fic but it is my first time writing for these two lovelies, so I'm still trying to get their voices just right. I'd love to hear your thoughts :) 
> 
> [Insert disclaimer here about how this is purely fiction and not meant to offend or reflect poorly on anyone involved]

Her heart beats in time with the paces of her shoes against the pavement, slamming harshly against the cage of her ribs for release. She’s running a little late— _in more ways than one_ , her mind supplies, which is absolutely not helping the panic building low in her stomach—and she nearly runs into someone on her way into the rink.

“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbles belatedly, barely looking up to see who it was.

Tessa can see him from where she’s stopped, peering through the window of the swinging door. Scott’s already on the ice, doing small circles in the middle to warm up his legs, and she was hoping he’d have been running late, too, so he wouldn’t know. She could play it off like she's been here the whole time, on time, and nothing out of the ordinary is occurring. 

No such luck.

Taking a deep breath, she pushes through and makes her way to the bench, throwing off her jacket and placing her belongings on the floor in front of her. Sneakers discarded, she laces up her skates, pops off the guards, and glides onto the ice as if it's just another practice. As if every fiber of her being isn’t screaming at her to just  _leave_ , as if every section of her brain isn’t focused on the tiny box sitting at the very bottom her skating bag.

“Forget to set an alarm, Tess?” he teases, sliding easily over to her.

She forces a laugh. “Just took a little longer to get ready.”

Scott stares at her for a moment, assessing, and she can hear the blood pounding in her ears. Does he know? Can he tell just by looking at her that something might be different?

She almost laughs at herself.  _Get a hold of yourself_. Of course not; there’d be no way. Scott knows her well, better than anyone she’s ever known, but even he’s not  _that_ good.

But he doesn’t say anything and she exhales, takes his extended hand, and lets him lead her across the ice. They do a few warm-up laps together even though he’s likely been doing this for the past twenty minutes already, but they don’t say much. It’s not unusual; she’s not a morning person, never has been, and they generally don’t talk much until at least eleven anyway.

They let their skating do the talking. They always have. The movement of their blades, purposeful eye contact, and the intermittent squeezing of each other’s hands is all the conversation they need.

Music of Valse Triste fills the air and she should be feeling the emotion, getting into the story they’re trying to portray—this  _is_ one of her favorite pieces of music—but she’s not on her game and she knows it. Scott knows it, and she can hear him whispering to her as they float across the ice.

_Everything okay?_

_Do you need a break?_

_Just enjoy it, T._

Marina notices too, which is worse, because where Scott’s voice is low and comforting in her ear, her accented voice carries loudly over the music. Sharp and biting.

“You move with grace of a gorilla today,” she calls out, and Tessa takes a deep, shaky breath. “Start again.” 

Nodding, she and Scott slow to a stop and settle in place for a moment. Tessa stands with her hands on her hips, blowing the stray pieces of hair that have fallen from her bun out of her face. Without her realizing, Scott has migrated closer, and she nearly jumps when one of his hands finds her lower back and she feels his other rest on her arm.

Her back is rigid and she can tell by the slow, deliberate circles his fingers paint along her spine, an attempt at loosening her up, that it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “What’s up with you?”

When she chances a glance up, he’s looking at her with soft eyes and concern etched into every line of his face. She manages a smile then, because it’s  _sweet_ , but she almost wishes he’d yell. Be angry with her for falling out of twizzles and dragging their practice down. At least that’d give her something else to fixate on, something other than the glaring uncertainty hovering above her like a black cloud.

She can’t concentrate, can’t even  _think_ about paying attention to anything else. Tessa’s a problem solver; she’ll exhaust all of her brain power into analyzing and re-analyzing and calculating until she’s thought of every possible solution. Her current problem has a simple solution, but the issue lies with the fact that she can do nothing about it right now. Not while they’re practicing, trying to prepare for Skate Canada. Not while Scott’s standing so close to her she can feel the heat of his body radiating through her own. Not when Marina’s screeching in Russian every time she skips on a step.

She’s not trying to avoid his questions and pointed looks because she doesn’t want to talk to him. Honestly, she thinks she’s avoiding them because she  _does_.

Scott’s her best friend, and up until now he’s generally been the person she goes to. He’s the one she wants to talk to when things aren’t going right; it’s his soothing presence that calms her and keeps her grounded. She needs that now, that calming voice and comforting touch, but this feels different.

This isn’t a skating problem, a fear about their careers or doubts about programs that can be solved with reassurances of their accomplishments and how much more they have to give. It’s not another bout of recurring homesickness that can be fixed with a night in, old movies (that he lets her choose and sits through, happily even, even though they both know he's not that into them), and laughter that makes her stomach hurt.

Scott can’t joke his way through this one, because it’s not funny. He can’t hug her through it, either, but she wouldn’t say no to one of his hugs right now. It won’t change a thing, but it’ll make her feel better.

The other worries always seem serious at the time, practically catastrophic, but they all make her laugh now. Looking back, they seem so silly, so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

This, though. This could be... big.

She could be  _pregnant_ and she needs to tell someone, needs someone to be with her when she takes that stupid test because she absolutely cannot do it alone, and she wants that person to be Scott but she doesn’t know if it  _should_ be.

He’s the person she trusts the most, but for as close as they are, they haven’t talked about this stuff. Not about sex. Sure, he’s told stories that have one way or another made their way to her over the years, when she was fourteen and bordering on horrified, fifteen and eyes-rolling-exasperated, sixteen and a little jealous. But it was never a conversation directly between the two of them, never a session of shared details, and now she’s seventeen— _almost eighteen_ , a tiny, irritating voice in the back of her mind adds, as if trying to make the situation better; she's practically an adult—and unsure of how to break that unspoken rule of silence.

Maybe it’s not even a rule. Maybe it’s just happened that neither of them felt the need to go into details about their sex life with each other. Granted, she doesn’t have much at all to tell. Her list isn’t all that extensive, barely makes a dent compared to Scott’s—or so she assumes, anyway, based on what she’s heard secondhand.

“Earth to Tessa.” Scott’s voice breaks her from her thoughts, and when she blinks, a little frazzled, she realizes he’s waving a hand in front of her face. “Seriously, you’re scaring me a little, kiddo. Are you okay?”

Even as she begins to nod her eyes well up with traitorous tears, betraying her unbothered facade. Of course, if the worry laced in his tone is any indication, the facade was poorly executed to begin with. So much for all of those supposed acting skills.

Tessa opens her mouth to say something, to blurt it out or to give a placating  _I’m fine_  that he won't believe anyway, she doesn’t know, but the only sound that comes out is something between a whimper and a scoff. She can’t do this here, in the middle of the rink with their coach hovering somewhere along the sidelines. 

So she shakes her head instead, looking anywhere but directly at him as she attempts to blink away the moisture in her eyes. 

“Yes? No?” he questions, inching closer. His palm lands on her bicep, the warmth burning through her sweater. 

All she can do is let out a watery laugh because it’s all so  _ridiculous_. But her chin continues to quiver despite the force with which her bottom lip is pinned between her teeth, and the second Scott catches sight of the rogue tear staining her cheek, his grip tightens. 

“Let’s go.” 

He wordlessly guides her towards the boards, towards Marina, and she keeps her eyes trained on the ice below her feet.

“Tess doesn’t feel good,” he tells the woman. Tessa doesn’t need to look up to know she’s being watched. She can feel it. “I really don’t think she should be out on the ice any longer.” 

When she’s addressed directly, she finally looks up. 

“What is wrong? You feel sick?” 

Tessa nods.

She  _does_ feel sick, so it’s not a lie. She’s never been that great at lying. 

Marina purses her lips. “That explains the mistakes,” she says, but then her face actually softens. “Go home. Rest.” 

“Thank you,” she says.

“I’m going to take her home,” Scott says, his voice firm and leaving no room for negotiation. It's not as if Marina would make him stay and go through the routine himself, lifting air instead of her body, but his conviction still starts a fluttering deep in her stomach that she refuses to acknowledge. His hand wraps around her wrist. “Come on, T.” 

They’re quiet as they grab their stuff and leave the rink, Scott leading her to his car with a steady hand on her lower back. 

“We’ll get your car later. You’re not driving right now.”

She doesn’t feel like driving anyway, so she doesn’t object, just settles into his passenger seat and waits for him to slide into the other side. Her heart is racing, hands wringing in her lap where the skating bag is clutched to her chest. 

Nervous energy spills from her pores, and it takes her a minute to realize that although Scott’s now in the driver’s seat, he hasn’t started the car. 

Twisting to look at him, eyes a little bloodshot, she finds him already staring at her. 

“Not here,” is all she says, voice quiet.

He starts the car, pulls out of the parking lot, and doesn't push.

* * *

“All right, kiddo,” Scott says once they’re inside, both seated on the couch. His roommates aren't here and she's thankful; she absolutely does _not_ want them to be around for this. “I’m gonna ask you one more time. Are you okay?” 

Tongue darting out to wet her dry lips, she lifts one shoulder. “I don’t know.” It comes out as a question more than a statement of fact. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

He sighs and puts a gentle hand on her bouncing knee, stilling the nervous tick. 

“What do you mean you don’t know? Now you're really freaking me out, Tess, please, talk to me.” 

Just looking at him is too much; his eyes are staring right through her, his forehead creased and mouth turned into a frown. Concern plays on every corner of his skin, fear peeking through the shadows of his face.

“ _I’m late_ ,” she finally exhales, nearly hisses it through her teeth. 

Scott’s concern turns quickly to confusion. “You’re upset because you were late today?” He manages to laugh, and he continues on even as she shakes her head. “Tess, I’m probably late every other practice. It’s  _okay_ , it’s not going to ruin your perfect attendance,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

A gravely laugh escapes over the lump in her throat, a contrast to the way her vision clouds with fresh tears.

“No,” she says, closing her eyes. They’re usually so good at communicating without words, and she silently wills him to understand so she doesn’t have to say it. “I’m  _late_ , Scott.”

One second, two seconds, then three, and _there it is_ but she doesn’t break eye contact. His face pales a considerable amount and the hand on her knee squeezes a little tighter as he looks down at her. 

Puffing out a breath, Scott nods. It’s to himself, she can tell, but she allows herself to believe he’s already reassuring her too. He's good at that.

There’s nothing else for her to say, so she waits him out. 

“Oh,” he coughs. Clearing his throat, his free hand moves to scratch at the back of his neck. “Okay. Okay. I um—I didn’t know you had...” 

Her cheeks tinge a light shade of pink.

“Well, I have.” 

“Okay,” he says again. One beat passes, then two, and Scott twists his mouth to the side. “Dave?”

She picks at a non-existent piece of lint on her leggings. “Mhm.”

There’s silence for a minute and then, “It was, you know... he didn’t—force you into something you weren’t comfortable with, did he?” 

Her head whips around at that. “What? No.” Tessa shakes her head. “I’m not a  _child_ , Scott, I knew exactly what I was doing. It wasn’t my first time, you know.”

He doesn’t know, because they don’t talk about it. She adds it on as an afterthought, a little petty and a lot snappy, maybe, because she doesn’t want him to think of her as this little kid, this fragile thing. 

Deep down she knows he doesn’t. But she’s scared and she’s trying to tamper down an anxiety attack she's felt building in her chest all morning and it’s easier to bite back. It’s what they used to do as kids, before the counseling and before they worked past the habit, but when one of them is in a particular mood it still slips out.

“Jeez, Tess, I’m sorry,” he says, hands raised, a white flag. “I had to be sure, kiddo. That’s all.” 

Her shoulders sag. “Sorry,” she murmurs. 

“I know you’re not a child,” he promises, “but you’re my partner and you were  _crying_. I mean, we’ve seen each other cry before but it’s rare and you know that—of course I’m going to be concerned about why you’re so upset.”

“I’m upset because I might be  _pregnant_ , Scott, not because I had sex with my boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” he corrects quickly, a reflex, and her eyes widen the same way his did the second she said _I might be pregnant_ out loud, no pretenses or dancing around it. 

Scott's little reminder makes it a lot more real and her breathing quickens. She might be pregnant and she’s not even with her boyfriend anymore and she’ll have to tell her parents and they’ll be so disappointed and can she even  _skate_ anymore—

“Shit, hey, breathe,” Scott’s voice reaches her ears. Her chest rise and falls far too fast, her breaths coming in quick, choppy bursts. “God, Tess, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to. Come here.”

Pulling gently at her shoulder, he holds her until she’s curled into his chest, face tucked into his neck. Tears drop wetly onto his skin. She wraps her arms around him, fingers clutching tightly at the fabric of his shirt. 

“Breathe,” he whispers into her ear, rubbing calming circles on her back. “That’s it. Just breathe, T. You’re okay.” 

“Scott,” she hiccups, burying her face deeper into the crook of his neck. “I’m scared.” 

Her voice is so quiet that, if not for Scott's response, she wouldn't even be sure she spoke at all.

“I know. I know, but it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

Shaking her head, she tightens her grip on him. “You don’t know that,” she manages, voice muffled. “What if I am? We’re doing so  _well_ and it could all be ruined and we'll never go to the Olympics and it’ll be my fault, and Dave has a new girlfriend already and he won’t want anything to do with me and I don’t want to—I can’t do this alone, and—”

“Tessa,” Scott says firmly, tugging on her shoulder until she’s no longer curled into his body. Her eyes are wide, glassy. “Look at me. You could never do anything to ruin us, okay? Whether we go to the Olympics or not, nothing will take away from what we’ve done so far." His fingers grip at her sweater, bunching it in his grip. "No matter what happens,  _nothing_ will be your fault. Understand?”

When it becomes clear he’s looking for a response, she offers a slow, unconvincing nod. 

“You’ve been broken up for what, three weeks, and he’s already dating someone else? He’s an _ass_ , T. I told you he was too pretty, didn’t I?”

The corners of her mouth twitch into a barely-there smile, but he grins at the sight of it.

“You did,” she nods. 

“He can’t do better than you,” Scott starts again. She curls her fingers into a fist, nails creating crescent moon indents in the skin of her palm. “I  _will_ punch him if he got you pregnant and decides he's just going to walk away. He won’t be so pretty then, eh?”

Tessa chuckles in spite of herself, sniffling. 

“I can’t make him step up and be a man, but you know what?” Scott asks, reaching forward to wipe at the tears beneath her eyes. His fingers are gentle as they swipe against the soft skin, thumbs caressing as he goes. “You will never be alone. You’ve got me, kiddo. And if there’s a little kiddo, then they’ve got me too.”

The corners of her lips curl even as she shakes her head. “Scott, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Do what, be there for my best friend? You don’t even have to ask. And you didn’t,” he points out, a small smirk on his face. “I offered and I won’t take no for an answer. I love you, T, you know that.”

She gives a little nod. “I know.” 

“Good,” he says, taking a steeling breath. One hand still runs comfortingly along her forearm. “Did you already... take a test or something?” 

“Not yet.”

“Okay. Do you need me to run to the store?” he asks, gesturing in the general direction of the window. 

Tessa smiles at that, but shakes her head. “No, I have one.” Leaning forward, she slides her bag towards her. “That’s actually why I was late this morning,” she admits. “I had to go to the drug store.”

Understanding dawns on his face. “You could’ve told me, Tess.”

“I wanted to,” she says immediately. “I was freaking out, and I wanted to tell you as soon as I got on the ice, but we don’t  _talk_ about this stuff and Marina was there and I just... couldn’t.”

“You can talk to me about anything,” he says softly, tipping her chin up.

The sincerity in his eyes is overwhelming. 

Tessa just shoots him a small smile, now clutching the little blue box in her lap. Scott’s eyes trail from her face down to the offending object, and then he stands, extending a hand. 

“Moment of truth, kiddo.”

Letting him pull her from the couch, she straightens her back and blows out a breath. 

“Scott...” 

“No matter what, you’re okay.” He pushes her softly towards the hallway. "And hey, it's probably negative. You've been really stressing yourself out over our programs and I've uh, I've heard that can... do stuff, you know, effect a girl's period."

Funnily enough it's Scott's last attempt at calming her down before she actually takes this test, the uncomfortable way he's shifting his weight from one foot to the other but trying to look completely positive and nonchalant, that does the trick.

"Yeah," she nods, marginally more confident. "Yeah, it could be stress."

"See, that's it. Just think _stress_." He gives her a goofy thumbs up and gestures for her to _shoo_. “Go. Find out if I have to start buying ‘World’s Best Uncle’ onesies.”

Her eyes narrow, but her lips manage to quirk. “That’s not funny.” 

“It’s a little funny.” 

“How about we wait three minutes to decide whether or not it’s funny,” she offers as a compromise, waving the box around for emphasis. The banter settles her stomach a little, her nerves a little more, and relaxes her.

Scott grins, nodding. “Deal.”

* * *

Scott waits with bated breath for the bathroom door to open. Three minutes feels like three hours in a moment like this, and he’s not even the one who might be pregnant. But this is Tess,  _his_ Tess, and he doesn’t take anything lightly when it comes to her. He's always been a little overprotective (or a lot, if you ask Tessa sometimes) and it doesn't sit well with him when she’s hurt or otherwise in pain.

He supposes she's not _physically_ hurt, but emotionally, maybe, and he's been through enough with her to know that's sometimes even worse. Her ex is an asshole and Scott's never liked him. The thought of Tessa being with the guy tore at him and though the dude never came into the rink, he's had to watch as she pranced out the doors to meet him in the parking lot. Couldn't even take a few extra steps to meet her inside, to see what she does with most of her time.

Even if the test is negative and Davey boy gets a free pass to continue on acting like a frat boy, Scott thinks he'd like to punch him. Yeah, that'd be nice.

When the familiar squeak of the bathroom door hinges sound, he shoots off of the couch and stands in the hallway, heart embarrassingly high in his throat. Tessa walks out a moment later, her face blank as he stares at her.

“Tess?” he hedges carefully. They’ll either be celebrating or he’ll be spending the night with an emotionally distraught Tessa, showering her with reassurances like he does during their tougher programs, and he  _really_ needs to know what his reaction should be right now.

Her face breaks, the corners of her lips curling into a genuine smile as she takes four quick steps and wraps her arms around his torso. He holds her without hesitation, can feel the grin she presses into his chest, and cradles the back of her head with his hand. 

Scott's glad she can't see the way his eyes slip closed for a moment, and hopes she doesn’t notice the relieved breath he releases.

“Thank you,” she breathes quietly.

He can feel the racing of her heart finally begin to slow, hours worth of tension and anxiety slowly seeping away. 

A chuckle breaks free. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You were here,” shes mumbles into his shirt. 

“Always, kiddo,” he says, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “So, ‘World’s Best Uncle’: funny or not?”

Laughing, she pulls back just enough to be able to look up at him. Her smile is so bright, practically beaming at him even if her eyes are still a little puffy, cheeks still a little red and tear-stained. 

She’s beautiful. 

“Funny. Definitely funny.”


End file.
